


Ghosts

by haeralis



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Gen, i gave makoto a buzzcut because i can, phantom thieves support group, this fic is about hair and also angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-16 02:00:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14802197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haeralis/pseuds/haeralis
Summary: "Don’t you think your hair is getting a bit long, Yusuke?"That was always how Yusuke knew he would be getting a haircut soon. Not by the way his bangs would start to fall across his eyelashes, or how he'd notice strands of hair tickling the back of his ears, or how sweat would gather more at the back of his neck. No, it was always Madarame's implicit disapproval that signaled an appointment with the barber in the near future.





	Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my good friend Biz for putting this idea into my head. This was partially inspired by Yusuke's concept art where his hair is long.

"Don’t you think your hair is getting a bit long, Yusuke?"

That was always how Yusuke knew he would be getting a haircut soon. Not by the way his bangs would start to fall across his eyelashes, or how he'd notice strands of hair tickling the back of his ears, or how sweat would gather more at the back of his neck. No, it was always Madarame's implicit disapproval that signaled an appointment with the barber in the near future. Yusuke often told himself that he didn't mind it, even when his heart twisted with regret at the thought of losing a few centimeters of hair. Why was it such a problem? He had asked Madarame once, citing his sensei's own long hair pulled back in a severe ponytail, but Madarame merely shook his head and gave Yusuke an answer he wouldn’t fully understood the implications of until much later:

"It isn't becoming of a young man like yourself to wear his hair like that. Not in this day and age."

It wasn't until he saw himself reflected in the 'Sayuri', not only as the infant, but as the woman holding it, that the thought finally dawned on him: _Ah, I look just like my mother._

***

Yusuke sometimes wondered how Madarame spent his days in prison after turning himself in. Was he as anguished as he seemed to be on his television press conference? Was he wracked with guilt over his former actions, unable to do anything but weep and lament? Or was he silently haunted by the ghosts of his former pupils during every waking moment? It was justice, Yusuke had long ago decided, and he did not regret bringing Madarame down--but he still shuddered at the thought of his former sensei's fate. He certainly did not envy him. He pitied him, if anything. Yusuke wondered if it was his mother's face that would come to Madarame in the dead of night, reminding him of the life he had robbed of her, her visage unwilling to let him rest.

Yusuke had to admit to himself that if that were the case, perhaps he did envy Madarame's situation just a little.

He had long since vowed to break free of the chains that Madarame had bound him with all his life. His art, his future, his happiness--these were no longer tools to be sacrificed. Yusuke's life was his own, and he had no intention of staying within the frame that Madarame had put him in. That freedom included, among other things, his hair. Over two years had passed since Madarame's confession, and in that time, Yusuke had not visited the barber once. Consequently, it had grown so long that it draped over his shoulders, fell in front of his eyes, and covered his ears and the back of his neck entirely. It was messy for a few months once it had reached a certain length, because Yusuke kept forgetting to tie it back while painting, and later found streaks of sunflower yellow or burnt sienna in his hair.

By the time Yusuke entered university, his hair had grown long enough to wear in a side ponytail, which he favored on most days. It allowed him to draw unencumbered, yet he still felt the weight of it close to him, a sensation he had grown oddly fond of. It was how he wore it when meeting Kawanabe for lunch one day in Ueno, near a gallery where Kawanabe's foundation had recently sponsored some local artists, Yusuke among them. Kawanabe paid for lunch as usual, though whether it was because the man knew Yusuke would normally not take such expenses for himself, or out of a sense of guilt for having once tried to pressure him into selling his tragedy for money, Yusuke couldn't say. They were on somewhat amiable terms now, and Yusuke had agreed on occasion to allow his art to be displayed under the foundation's name, though only ever at his discretion. As fellow artists and appreciators of art, Yusuke and Kawanabe had much more pleasant things to say--and so finances rarely came up in their conversations.

"You're looking well, Yusuke-kun," Kawanabe remarked as the two of them sat down and ordered their soba. "How is the life of a university student treating you?"

"I don't begin classes until next week, so I'm not officially a student yet," Yusuke replied, wiping his hands with a hand towel. 

Kawanabe chuckled. "I'm sure you'll find it very invigorating. I can only imagine what kind of ideas you'll get from that environment."

They talked in polite circles with one another until their dishes arrived. As Yusuke idly shifted his ponytail back, Kawanabe gave a thoughtful hum and tilted his head in thought.

"You know, seeing you like this makes me feel nostalgic. Your hair's become quite long now, hasn't it?"

Yusuke raised an eyebrow, wondering why his hair would make Kawanabe feel nostalgic. "Yes, I have been letting it grow out."

Kawanabe's eyes crinkled a little. "It's strange, but somehow you look just like Madarame did when he was young. Around your age, he had so many bright ideas and pursuits, and we--the foundation, that is--were only too pleased to support him. Well... perhaps that was just the vigor of youth in him."

Yusuke felt something cold trickle down his spine, and for a moment he wondered if it had spontaneously begun to rain inside the restaurant, or if a passing waitress had just poured ice water down his shirt on accident. But the feeling was not entirely physical, it was a sensation like dread gripping one's heart. Yusuke barely managed not to fumble his chopsticks, though as he looked down at the bowl of noodles in front of him, he found that he could not open his mouth, despite the hunger in his belly. Something had sealed his lips shut, and try as he might, he could not open them. Strangely, his ponytail began to feel heavy, like an anchor dragging along the ocean floor, and Yusuke a shipwrecked vessel trying desperately to move.

_You look just like him when he was young._

"No, I'm nothing like him."

Yusuke had to tear his lips apart to say anything, but all that came out was a whisper. Kawanabe didn't even seem to hear him, though he seemed to sense conflict in Yusuke's demeanor. He changed the subject, brought up the recent gallery showing, and in a way, it worked; Yusuke was distracted long enough to put thoughts of Madarame out of his mind long enough to finish the meal and exchange some last remnants of pleasantries with Kawanabe before parting ways.

Later, Yusuke realized he couldn't recall what kind of soba he had eaten for lunch, because the only taste that lingered was the taste of blood from his chapped and bitten lips.

***

That evening, before Yusuke went to bed, he spent a long time in front of his bathroom mirror. His eyes scanned his reflection, intent on memorizing the image, intent on finding every last scrap of evidence that Madarame had left in him. Every blink left him more suspicious of his own face, until he could no longer recognize the person standing before him.

Around 2am that night, Yusuke had made his decision. He sent a text to Ryuji:

> **@yusuke:** Are you busy tomorrow? I wish to meet up.

He didn't expect a response right away given the timing, but received one nonetheless.

> **@ryuji:** dude u hav any idea what time it is??? what u need  
>  **@yusuke:** I want to borrow your buzz clippers.  
>  **@ryuji:** uhhhh ok?? u mean the ones i lent makoto?  
>  **@yusuke:** Yes. You do still have them, don't you?  
>  **@ryuji:** yea theyre around here somewhere, havent used em in a while but i got u covered  
>  **@ryuji:** ill tell u now tho, if u want to use it to shave ur pubes or sth im gonna be real pissed  
>  **@yusuke:** That isn't it. I was told that my hair makes me look like Madarame, so I have decided to shave it all off.  
>  **@ryuji:** dude wtf?????  
>  **@yusuke:** I would do it by myself, but I have never used them before, so I want to avoid causing an injury by having you show me how to use them. Is there a problem?

There was a long pause before Ryuji responded back. Yusuke supposed he was looking for the buzz clippers.

> **@ryuji:** nah i got u. was just texting akira asking if we can use leblanc instead  
>  **@ryuji:** ma will get pissed if i make a mess in the bathroom again, i accidentally spilled a ton of bleach in the bathtub last time  
>  **@yusuke:** What did he say?  
>  **@ryuji:** he says were good. come over around 2  
>  **@yusuke:** I appreciate it. Thank you.

When Yusuke ascended the stairs to Leblanc's attic the next day, he expected to meet Ryuji there, along with Akira and Morgana. What he didn't expect was to find all the other members of the former Phantom Thieves sitting around, apparently waiting for him. Futaba had her knees pulled up to her chest, and Haru was petting Morgana like a security blanket. Ann had her bag in her lap and was fidgeting with the handles. Makoto was standing with her arms crossed, deep in thought. Ryuji was sitting at the table with his leg bouncing, nervous energy coming off of him in waves. And Akira was calmly sitting on his bed, silently watching over everyone else.

The buzz clippers, along with a pair of thick scissors and an electric razor, had been placed in the middle of the table. Akira, as unflappable as ever, was the first to greet Yusuke.

"Hey."

Yusuke glanced around the room, perplexed. "Are we having a team meeting? Why did no one tell me?"

"'Cause the meeting's about you, Yusuke." Ryuji sighed and hunched forward, elbows resting on his knees. "You got us kinda worried, you know?"

Yusuke felt himself growing more confused. "Worried? Why?"

It was Haru who spoke next. "Why don't you have a seat, Yusuke-kun?"

He did, with some reluctance. "I'm sorry, but I don't understand what the problem is. Ryuji, did you ask everyone to gather here?"

Ryuji nodded with a bit of a grimace. "Yeah. Somethin' about your texts last night bugged me. You've been really proud of your hair ever since it started growin' out, so why cut it all off now? Just 'cause someone told you that you look like Madarame? That ain't right."

So this was why they were all gathered. Yusuke couldn't hide the incredulous expression on his face. All of them had come together, taken time off of work and classes, just to discuss his hair? It was a Sunday, but still. His eyes narrowed. "What I do with my hair should not be up for discussion among others, even if it is all of you--"

Ann interrupted with a sudden burst of worried energy. "That's exactly the point, Yusuke!"

"What do you mean?"

"You should be the one who decides whether to grow your hair out or cut it, not some clueless adult!"

Haru continued the line of thinking. "Besides, I thought you liked your hair like this, Yusuke. It suits you."

Akira went further, his voice quiet yet compelling. "You told me that when you realized Madarame wouldn't be making you cut your hair anymore, you felt relieved. You said you wanted it long enough to touch the ground one day."

"I..." Yusuke found the feeling of cold dread had returned, and it was a struggle to form words for a moment, his head racing until they all seemed to spill out in a rush. "I thought I liked the way it looks, the way it feels, but what is the cost of that? Becoming a shadow of Madarame? I refuse to allow him dominion over my life any longer. I want no connection between myself and him. If that means I have to shave my head, then so be it. Perhaps you may all think it foolish, but I had not noticed any resemblance until it was pointed out to me. What other resemblances to him do I possess that I have yet to notice? Already I have to deal with his legacy of deceit whenever I paint, always worrying that he has instilled in me the same vice and greed he himself used to destroy lives with. I want no part of that! I cannot allow him to control me like this!"

Ryuji slammed his fist on the table, his voice rising. "Eff that! That bastard doesn't have the right to make you feel shitty about your own effin' body!"

"Yeah! You can wear your hair however you want, it doesn't mean he's still controlling you!" Ann yelled, her words hot. Yusuke opened his mouth to argue, but Haru's voice interrupted him.

"Aren't you being naïve about this, Yusuke-kun?"

Ann's righteous anger dissipated, and she, Yusuke, and Ryuji all turned towards Haru. Although she was smiling, her eyes were sharp.

"There will always be a part of you that can't help but be influenced by him. You can't run away from it. You could just as easily run away from your own memories. But being influenced by him doesn't mean you're going to _become_ him. Your own fears are proof of that. Already you've become someone different, someone wonderful, and even if there's a piece of him still clinging to you years into the future, it doesn't mean your life has to be like his. You have the power to change that."

For a moment, Yusuke could see something painful reflected in Haru's eyes, and he wondered if she, too, had ghosts haunting her. Akira leaned forward and put a hand on Yusuke's shoulder, a gentle smile on his face. "Your fate isn't decided yet. You can always change it. You just have to believe strongly enough, and push past the barriers in front of you."

For the first time since Yusuke had entered the room, Futaba spoke up. "Long hair is on-brand for you anyway, Inari. It'd be a shame to go back to looking normal when you're already committed to looking like a weirdo."

Yusuke couldn't help but raise an eyebrow, his response sardonic. "Is that the pot calling the kettle black?"

"I'm just calling it how I see it!"

Makoto loudly cleared her throat before Yusuke could say anything to that. "We're not here to stop you from cutting your hair if you really want to do it, Yusuke. But we want you to know that you shouldn't feel you _have_ to just because of an unfortunate resemblance. None of us think you're anything like Madarame deep down. We all know how much you like having your hair like this, so we don't want you to do something you'll regret. Like Ryuji said... it's your own body."

Ryuji grinned at her. "Eff yeah it is."

Ann giggled a little. "Those are some powerful words, coming from Miss Buzzcut herself." Makoto let out a huff, and self-consciously rubbed the back of her neck, where her own hair had been finely shaved down, only short strands on the top of her head hinting at her former cut. She looked embarrassed, but she was smiling.

Yusuke watched her, and then glanced over at Ryuji, whose roots were starting to come in, and then over at Futaba, who was idly curling a long strand of her orange hair around her finger, and then to Ann, who was smiling back at Makoto and shaking her hair out of her pigtails.

"Well? What do you think, Yusuke?" Akira's hand squeezed his shoulder.

"I think... it would be foolish of me to undo all the work I've put into growing my hair out." Yusuke spoke softly. "I worry, even now, that one day I will fall into the same trap of vanity, but perhaps I need not be so paranoid. Not to mention..." Here, he glanced at Makoto fondly. "I could never pull off that look the way you do, Makoto."

She chuckled. "Glad you realized that."

The tension in the air seemed to evaporate after that, and Futaba said, "Can we finally start in on the snacks? I am _starving!_ "

"You brought snacks to an intervention?" Yusuke looked both skeptical and unimpressed.

"Duh!"

"You could go downstairs and get free curry anytime you want, you know," Akira pointed out.

"That requires moving. And there's jagariko right here."

"I agree with Futaba," Yusuke interjected. "Let us commence snacking."

"Knew that would get him." Futaba jeered and laughed, and started passing around snacks. Ann shifted her bag out of her lap and then stopped, letting out a sudden 'oh!' The others glanced at her.

Sheepishly, she opened her bag and rummaged inside. "I almost forgot. I didn't know how you'd feel about it, Yusuke, but if you wanted to experiment..." She trailed off as she revealed a curling iron, and Yusuke's eyes lit up.

***

That evening, before Yusuke went to bed, he spent a long time in front of his bathroom mirror. This time, he didn't look for evidence of his former sensei, didn't search out hidden scars that would never heal, didn't blink and see a phantom standing behind him.

Instead, he closed his eyes. He imagined himself sitting at the counter in Leblanc, at the seat closest to the door. He imagined sitting there with a cup of coffee, gazing at the 'Sayuri' hanging on the wall. He imagined what his mother must have looked like based on how she had painted herself, and then he opened his eyes. For just a moment, he thought he saw her there, in his face, his eyes a reflection of her own kind ones as she smiled down at her newborn son. Was it just his imagination? It had to have been, he rationalized, but the thought of his mother so close to him, closer now than she had ever been before, filled his heart with warmth.

Madarame could haunt him all he wanted, Yusuke realized. His mother was wound far more deeply into his heart, in his fingers, in his eyes, in the strands of his hair. She was not a ghost to Yusuke: she was a part of him, more tangible and real than any specter, or sensei, could ever be.

He smiled and reached for his phone, sending a quick text to Ann.

> **@yusuke:** May I borrow your curling iron again sometime? I have changed my opinion on how I feel about the curls.  
>  **@ann:** Knew you'd come around!! ♥


End file.
